


Only Pussies Hate the Snow

by Skarla



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Artist!Grimmjow, Editor!Hitsugaya, Evesdropping on the roof, F/M, M/M, There is no plot here., There is no porn either, fluff piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 10:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16554230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skarla/pseuds/Skarla
Summary: Hitsugaya thinks that the new artist at Sakura Magazine is hot, but hadn't counted on having to share an office space with the man.Grimmjow's new job has his head in a spin, but his chilly new coworker has him looking at life in a whole new way.Previously posted on ff.net back in 2012, decided it was worthy of being moved over.





	Only Pussies Hate the Snow

It started so simply, so easily.  Almost as if nothing had even started at all.  A single glance in the hallway, a feeling of quickly stifled envy at the sheer outrageousness of the hairstyle.  Of course, when you're that tall no-one would dare mock you for having blue hair, even if it was obviously fake.  No-one had blue hair, for crying out loud.  No-one.  Although the fact that the stranger had bothered to dye his eyebrows to match said something to Toshiro; the man was clearly gay.  Straight men who dyed their hair blue did not bother to dye their eyebrows.

Of course, the arsehole didn't realise that he was gay yet.  That was why it was going to be so much fun educating him.

"Shiro-chan!" Momo screeched from the other end of the hallway, standing on tip-toe and waving at him over the heads of the other employees.  "Over here, Shiro-chan!"

"Don't call me that, idiot," Toshiro growled to himself as he made his way towards his childhood friend.  A friendship that he didn't have much choice in, given their families.  He was almost beginning to resent it, but it wasn't Momo's fault that she was a brainless idiot who couldn't see what was screamingly obvious to everyone else.  She still thought that he had kissed Hanatarou in the break room for a dare.

He tuned out Momo's continuous chatter with the ease of long practice as they made their way to their usual café, intent on asking Rangiku who the blue-haired punk rock secretly gay newbie was.  The blonde fashion guru always knew the latest gossip.

 

“Grimmjow,” Rangiku gushed, smiling at him over the rim of her coffee.  “I saw him this morning and practically melted on the spot.  That is one sexy beast of a man!”

“He reminds me of a panther,” Gin said lazily, resting his hand on the back of Rangiku's neck and lazily rubbing her pulse point with his thumb.

“When did you see him?” Rangiku demanded, poking her husband with a manicured finger.

Gin opened one ice-blue eye and smiled wider.  “He was in the same meetin' as me this morning,” he revealed.  “He's quite an accomplished prowler.”

Toshiro waited until Rangiku and Momo were distracted in conversation before leaning closer to Gin.  “Gay, right?” he muttered.

“Definitely.”

“And he has no idea, right?”

“None at all.”

“This is going to be fun,” Toshiro muttered, sitting back and nibbling at the watermelon in his fruit salad.

“Can I help?” Gin asked, tilting his head to one side.

Toshiro grinned.  “I was counting on it,” he replied, already trying to figure out exactly how he was going to attract Grimmjow’s attention.  “What department is he in?”

“Doesn’t the hair give it away?” Gin asked, twirling his straw between his fingers.  “He’s the new artiste that we all have to put up with.”

Toshiro frowned.  “I think I got an email about that... something about Kuchiki wanting to change the image of the magazine?”

“Yeah, we got some lukewarm reviews, the critics think that we’re too old fashioned,” Rangiku chirped, leaning over and stealing one of Toshiro’s grapes.  He didn’t mind; she knew that the watermelon was off limits and that was all that mattered to him.

“A lukewarm review means we hire a new person and renovate four offices into a studio for him?”  Gin asked, eyebrow raised.  “I didn’t realise that it was so easy.”

“Byakuya must be very image conscious,”  Momo said, smiling as she tore the wrapping off of her chocolate chip muffin.

“I think that it’s more likely to be Rukia’s influence,” Rangiku said, knotting her scarf more firmly around her neck.  “It’s a little chilly in here, don’t you think?”

“Maybe we’ll have snow this Christmas,” Toshiro said, unable to keep the hopeful tone from his voice.

“Just like back home Shiro-chan!”

Don’t call me that!” Toshiro protested.  Momo laughed at him and stole a piece of watermelon.

*

Grimmjow sat with his sketchpad on his knee in the roof garden and doodled absently.  If anyone had dared creep up behind him to peer over his shoulder and see the image they would have been understandably confused.  It looked as if Grimmjow was sketching Kuchiki Rukia, the only relative of the CEO of _Sakura_ Magazine Kuchiki Byakuya, as she argued with her bodyguard, Kurosaki Ichigo.

On the paper, a thin figure in a ragged black coat perched on the hilt of a dark sword that balanced on its tip.  The figure's thick wavy hair was twisted around his head, blown around in snow-filled blizzard.  Grimmjow was just putting the finishing touches on the snowflakes when Kurosaki won the argument – mostly through his silence, Grimmjow was amused to see – and the pair went inside.

Grimmjow rarely drew what he could see.  Instead, he drew the soul behind the image that his eyes captured - at least that was what Neliel had started saying to potential customers or employers.  In the meeting that morning he had sat opposite Sports Editor Yasutora Sado and found afterwards that he had scribbled a stylised screaming skull over the print outs that Hisagi Shuuhei, the Editor-in-Chief, had given him.  It somehow suited the Spanish half-breed, giving voice to the emotions that he hid behind his stoic exterior.

At least, that was what he figured Neliel would have told him to say to a potential buyer, if he had found the need to add the rather disturbing image to his portfolio.  He had thrown the drawing in the bin on his way out, so Grimmjow didn't foresee that being a problem.  The printout was pretty much illegible with that much biro on it anyway.

The building that housed the offices of _Sakura_ and it's subsidiaries was tall enough that the constant wind would have made it impossible to grow plants effectively on the roof without the addition of screens on every side shielding the space from the elements.  There were even canvas awnings placed over the benches.  They reminded Grimmjow of sails, although the garden was not beach themed in any other way.  He himself shunned the benches, preferring to perch on the edge of a planter full of lavender, the soothing scent easing the 'first day' headache that had been pounding behind his eyelids since 10 am that morning.

He had officially been working for the company for five hours, and he still didn't have a clue where his office was.

Grimmjow flipped his sketchpad closed and stood up, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans.  Time to find out where that annoying assistant Richiki had got to.  He was sure that the short-arse knew where he was supposed to go next.  He turned to walk back towards the staircase, and paused as he spotted an unlikely pair newly come onto the roof.  He was partially hidden behind a large fern, and enjoyed the luxury of watching, knowing that the objects of his interest though that the roof was empty.  There was something altogether more genuine within the interaction between friends when they thought themselves to be alone.

The sheer strangeness of the pair was what first caught his attention.  One man he recognised from his morning meeting, skinny and with hair that did not match his face.  Anyone with silver hair should have wrinkles, and yet this man, whose name he remembered thinking was strangely appropriate, even if he couldn't now remember was it was, could not have been older than thirty, and perhaps even younger.  He had spent the majority of the meeting smiling widely, and it had amused Grimmjow to see how much the expression of endless mirth had bothered some of the other suits.  Not quite as much as Grimmjow's blue hair, but then Grimmjow was both new and an artist – artist's are expected to be eccentric.

The other man with the tall silver haired smiler had equally strange hair – pure white and sticking up in every direction.  The pale strands stirred in the light breeze that swept through the garden, so the crazy hairstyle was apparently achieved without copious amounts of hair gel.  Grimmjow found himself slightly jealous – his own hair was so stiff with gel and spray that he suspected that a headbutt would warrant a trip to the ER.  Still, he consoled himself with the realisation that the white-haired man was short enough to shop in the children's section of the stores, and probably cultivated the hairstyle so as to seem taller.

They were having what looked to be a familiar argument, as the taller of the two pulled a pack of imported cigarettes out of his sleeve and lit up while the shorter folded his arms.  Grimmjow couldn't see his face, but he would bet money that the midget was frowning.  They both turned as the door to the rooftop opened, and a stream of people flowed into the garden, chattering cheerfully.  The pair waited until the crowd had dispersed, and then the taller said something, blowing smoke into the shorter man's face, making him turn away in disgust.  Grimmjow caught his first glimpse of eyes that he somehow knew in that split second that he wouldn't be able to forget.  Bright blue-green, wide and piercing.  He gasped as they drifted across the garden and suddenly focused on him, or more likely, on the tuft of hair sticking out amongst the green leaves.

With a presence of mind he did not usually possess, Grimmjow immediately turned a complete circle, so as to make it seem like he had been facing the other direction, and moved out from behind the plants, acting as if he had just noticed the pair.  The taller man nodded at him.

"Yo," he said casually, flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette.  "How's it goin'?  Firs' day an' all."

"Idiot," the shorter man muttered, stepping forward and offering his hand.  "I'm Hitsugaya Toshiro.  You must be our new artist.  You've already met Gin, right?"

"Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez," Grimmjow introduced himself, slapping the proffered palm with his own rather than shaking.  "And I seem to remember a meeting."

"Maa, I'm surprised you do," Gin said, smirking.  "It was so borin' I nearly slept through the whole thing!  And you was doodlin' the whole time."

Grimmjow grinned.  "I doodle a lot," he replied, hefting his sketchpad for emphasis.

“An’ a good thing too,” Gin said, tapping the ash off of the end of his cigarette.  “Bein’ as it’s your job an’ all.”

“Lucky me.”

“How do you like the place?” Toshiro asked.

Grimmjow shrugged.  “I haven’t even seen my office yet, so I can’t really comment until I know where I’m going to be working.”

“That’s no good,” Gin mused, sounding very cheerful about the whole situation, although Grimmjow suspected that that was normal for the silver haired man.  “Oi, Hanataro!”

A short man with straight black hair and an anxious expression immediately dropped his onigiri and trotted over to them.  “Y-yes Ichimaru-san?” he squeaked.

“Take Grimmjow to Kuchiki.  Rukia, not Byakuya.  No-one’s shown ‘im to his office yet.”

“Right away Ichimaru-san!” Hanataro replied.

“Hanataro will make sure you get to the right place,” Toshiro said quietly.  “Try not to scare him too much please, all the bodyguards around here tend to bully him.”

“No problem,” Grimmjow said as Hanataro led him away.  “And thanks!” he called over his shoulder.  Gin and Toshiro both raised a hand in farewell, and Grimmjow smiled to himself.  At least it seemed that he would have interesting co-workers in this new job.

*

Grimmjow followed the trotting footsteps of Ishida’s aide, Hanataro, his hands planted firmly in his pockets.  The nervous young man paused outside a dark wooden door that had a bronze plaque engraved with the number 10 screwed to it and knocked timidly.

“Hanatato, how many times have I told you to just come in?” came an exasperated voice from the other side.

Hanataro pushed open the door and stuck just his head through the opening.  “H-how did you know it was me?” he asked.

“Because no-one else knocks!”

Rolling his eyes at the absurdity of the situation, Grimmjow pushed the door open the rest of the way, causing Hanataro to squeak and scramble to regain his balance, and found himself facing the piercing teal eyes and snowy hair of the man he had met on the roof.

“Grimmjow,” Toshiro said, inclining his head in greeting.  “What can I do for you?”

“H-Hitsugaya-san, um, Kuchiki-san has said that this is to be, um, Jaegerjaquez-san’s t-temporary office.”

“What?”

“Until the r-renovation of his s-studio space is complete.”

“What?  Which idiot hired an artist before the studio was finished?”  Toshiro demanded.

“A rich one,” Grimmjow replied.

Toshiro rubbed a hand through his hair and slumped back into his seat.  “I suppose it can’t be helped.  Hanataro, has anyone said anything to you about arranging for another desk?”

“No, but I can-”

“No,” Toshiro said firmly.  “The guys down in supply bully you.  I’ll get someone else to go.”

“T-thank you Hitsugaya-san.”

Once Hanataro had been ushered out of the door, Toshiro stood and rolled his chair out from behind his desk.  “Help me move my desk?”  he asked.  “You’ll probably be stuck here with me for a while, so we might as well rearrange the place.  Then we’ll go get a desk for you.   I didn’t tell Hanataro that I was planning on going myself because he would have fussed something awful; he seems to have a strange idea of my actual position within this company.”

“And what position is that?”  Grimmjow asked as he dropped his bag by the door and joined his new office buddy pushing against the side of the desk.  “Damn this fucking thing is heavy!”

Toshiro grunted in surprise as the heavy wooden desk suddenly shifted out of the grooves it had sunk in the carpet and began to slide.  “It’s a good desk.  Lots of drawers.”

“Did you fill them with rocks?”

Toshiro barked out a laugh through gritted teeth as he continued to push.  “Not to my knowledge.  I think that’s enough.”  He straightened and stretched out, before offering his hand to Grimmjow.  “Hitsugaya Toshiro.  I’m one of the senior editors.  I try to take some of the load off of Shuuhei.”

“Shuuhei?” Grimmjow asked as he shook hands, sure that he knew the name from somewhere but figuring that, as a newbie, he was allowed a few memory jogs.  Toshiro’s palm was cool and hard, his grip firm and certain.  Grimmjow suddenly knew that if he were to sketch the shorter man his pencil would create an icy dragon, it’s wings curled protectively around… something.  Something fragile and beautiful.

“Hisagi Shuuhei is the editor in chief.  You probably saw him at your morning meeting, if Gin was there.”

“Why weren’t you there?”

“I was meeting with some suppliers, so I was excused.  The company representatives are only in the country for a short time, so they had a pretty full schedule, and the meeting wasn’t that important for me.  I don’t deal with content; that’s down to the editors of the different departments.  I am the one who pounces on spelling mistakes and grammatical errors that have slipped past everyone else.  I concentrate on the look of the magazine, not on the articles.  I also get last say on layouts and the ordering, before everything goes up to Shuuhei for approval.”

“It sounds like we’ll be working fairly closely then,” Grimmjow grinned, somehow liking that thought.

“If you can do me a new font for headlines that Kuchiki-san actually approves of I will love you forever,” Toshiro said absently, not noticing the effect his words had on the blue-haired artist, who had at first stiffened and then relaxed with a puzzled frown between his eyebrows.  “Come on, let’s go down and get a desk.”

It was a strangely comfortable journey down to the basement.  Grimmjow asked the occasional question, but didn’t seem to feel the need to fill the spaces in between with idle chatter.  He whistled quietly when the Food column writer Inoue Orihime walked past them, her long orange-tinted hair streaming over her shoulders.

“Who is she?”

“Inoue-san.  She does the culinary section.  Her recipes are pretty weird though, I wouldn’t recommend them.”

“I’ll remember that.  Are we going all the way down to the basement?”  Grimmjow asked once they were in the lift.

“To Basement level two.  Level one has the photography labs.  They decided that rather than black out a load of windows, they’d just have them underground.  Level two is storage of all sorts.  Some sets and props for photo shoots, furniture, stationary and a load of random stuff.  I don’t think anyone knows exactly what is down there.”

“I hope the lights work.”

Toshiro grinned.  “Most of the time.  Afraid of the dark?”

“No, I just hate banging my shins on shit when I’m stumbling around in it.”

Despite his casual tone and easy banter, Grimmjow was feeling strangely off-balance around the white-haired editor.  It wasn’t Toshiro’s fault, any idiot would have know that he was joking with the phrase ‘love you forever’.  It was a perfectly common phrase, and probably just the way that the man talked.  Besides they had just moved an extremely heavy desk three foot to the left, so they were both a little beyond the realm of initial politeness.  It was just a meaningless expression, so he had no idea why it was playing on his mind.  Why had it affected him at all when it really shouldn’t have?

The lift doors opened to reveal a shirtless skin head practicing kendo against three dressmakers dummies, all looking a little worse for wear and patched with duct tape.  All thoughts of love and strange reactions immediately flew out of Grimmjow’s head.

“Lucky!” the man shouted as his latest blow split the abused fabric covering on the dummy’s chest.

“Hey, Madarame!” Toshiro called.  The skin head whirled around, resting his bokken over his shoulder.

“Yo!”

“We need a desk,” the white haired editor explained.

Madarame grinned. “Who’s the punk?”

“The new artist.”

“No-one told me anything about a new artist.”

Toshiro sighed and rolled his eyes.  “Check with the boss if you don’t believe me.  Now, are you going to point me in the direction of the nearest desk or what?”

Madarame threw his head back and cackled.  “Sure, sure.  Over there,” he grinned, pointing to the left.  “By the second support pillar.”

“Thank you.”

Grimmjow followed Toshiro as Madarame resumed his kendo practice.  “He seemed like an arse,” he commented quietly.

“He’s not so bad,” Toshiro said, peering into the shadows.  “He gets bored down here, and he has a bit of an attitude, so he likes to mess with people.  He used to be a bodyguard, so I suppose playing Storage boy isn’t his style.”

“Why is he down here if he’s a trained bodyguard?”

“I think there was a screw up somewhere, but no-one ever talks about it.  Of course, it could be that his partner didn’t like him being in danger all the time.”

“He has a partner?  A punk like that?”

Toshiro laughed.  “Ayasegawa Yumichika.  Head of the fashion department.”

*

Once the second desk had been dragged in through the door,  Kuchiki Rukia appeared to whisk the blue-haired artist off to another meeting.  Toshiro sat back in his chair and contemplated his space for a moment.

He loved his office.  It wasn’t one of the coveted corner offices that most of the junior employees looked at covetously out of the corner of their eyes, but then he had never wanted one of those.  All of those windows meant that they got unbearably hot during the summer, even with the top-of-the-range air conditioning that was supposed to blow cool air throughout the building.  No, his office only had one wall of windows, and faced north.  The glare of the summer sun tended to miss his side of the building, and he had two fans that ran silently, just in case he got too hot.

Momo had always made it abundantly clear that she hated his office.  She complained that it was too cold, and did not reflect his personality.  True, he didn’t clutter up his space with ornaments, but he thought that the two paintings and the glass sculpture on the corner of his bookshelf were more than enough decoration.  Add in his framed diploma and a photograph of his Grandmother on the desk and that was all the personalisation that he felt comfortable with.

It was strange to think that a space that he had thought of as solely his own for over a year was now shared with someone else.  Still, he expected that Grimmjow would be in meetings most of the time, and surely it wouldn’t take long for Kidou Engineering to complete the studio.  He would only have to put up with Grimmjow for a few days, a week at the most.

*

The next morning Toshiro pushed open the door to his office and froze in shock.  It was early - 7:30 to be precise - and he had planned on getting some work done without interruption.  Grimmjow, it seemed, had beaten him to it.  His new office buddy was bent over a large sheet of paper that entirely covered the surface of his desk, a pencil in his hand, a pen behind his eat and a ruler clenched firmly in his teeth.  Large white headphones covered his ears, but Toshiro could hear the pounding bass from across the room.  Grimmjow was oblivious to his surprised audience.

It took twenty minutes before Grimmjow realised that he was there and took off his headphones with a sheepish expression on his face.

“Good Morning.”

“Morning,” Toshiro replied, staring at the page layout proposal Inoue had emailed him the night before.  It was a complete mess, but he knew that sending it back was liable to get him something even worse as she tried to ‘fix’ what she had done.  It was up to him to salvage something presentable out of the chaos, while still keeping her happy.

“Want some coffee?”

Toshiro barely heard the question and merely grunted in response as he pondered the spelling of artichoke.  He was pretty sure that Inoue had spelt it wrong, but he would have to look it up in a dictionary to make sure that there wasn’t a ‘ck’ at the end.

He was surprised ten minutes later when a large tanned hand shoved a steaming mug of coffee under his nose.

“Wha-”

“I asked the girl at the desk what you usually had, so I hope she remembered properly,” Grimmjow said gruffly, cradling his own mug.

“It wouldn’t matter, whatever Yuzu makes is divine.  Thank you.  It must be eight, then?”

“Yup.  I was the first customer.”

“I hope that means fresh beans?” Toshiro asked, inhaling the steam that rose from the cup.

“The grinder is fucking loud.”

“I know.”

 

By the time 9am rolled around, Grimmjow had met at least fifteen different people - all of whom had different excuses as to why they had not met their deadline - and had become very familiar with the frustrated frown that creased Toshiro’s eyebrows every time the door opened.

Hanataro really was the only one who bothered to knock.

“We have a meeting now,” Toshiro announced, kneading his forehead with his fingertips.  “They emailed me for the both of us, as you haven’t got your phone yet.”

“I get a phone?”

“Yeah, some piece of crap PDA Internet-capable thing.  I expect Nemu will drop it off later; the IT department tend to be pretty efficient.”

“Don’t I get a computer?” Grimmjow asked as they walked out of the door.  “I’m going to need one if they expect me to get any real work done.”

“There’ll be PCs in the studio once it’s finished, I expect.”

“What’s this meeting about?”

Toshiro shrugged.  “Some sort of ‘this is our new direction, go!’ meeting.  Kuchiki likes to set a destination and then let us decide how to get there.  He doesn’t stick his nose in too much - that causes arguments and he has better things to do with his time than argue.”

“Nice.”

“Hopefully it’ll just be employees; I hate the board.”

“Why?”

“They’re either old, annoying or stupid.”

 

*

 

Once the meeting had concluded – Grimmjow was both bored out of his skull and amused that he had just been paid to sit in a chair for over two hours, doodling.  No-one seemed surprised that he doodled a lot.  He had even caught Toshiro peeking a few times, although he didn’t think that anyone else had noticed the sly sideways glances.   Grimmjow was quite proud of the sketch of the cherry tree that had emerged from his random outlines during the course of the meeting.  He was thinking of replicating it in watercolour at some point.  Perhaps it could become the new logo for the company, it would after all be appropriate.

Kuchiki Rukia walked over to them as they stood, Grimmjow gathering the various pens and pencils that had somehow become scattered around his seat while Toshiro waited patiently.  “I’ve been asked to show you your studio,” she said, smiling.

“Want to come?”  Grimmjow asked Toshiro.

Toshiro shrugged.  “Might as well.”

Rukia’s orange haired perpetually frowning bodyguard fell into step behind them.  Grimmjow could practically feel the hostile eyes boring into the back of his neck, but he gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the punk.  Looking after the little princess was, after all, his job, and it wasn’t Grimmjow’s job to get mad at him for it.

The smell of fresh paint got stronger as they walked closer to the studio.  “At least it’s been painted,” Rukia muttered to herself as she pushed the door open.

The studio was bright white, sunlight streamed through the floor to ceiling windows and reflected off of the glossy white paint coating the walls.  A woman with long purple hair tied into a topknot was arguing with a man wearing a green and white striped hat pulled low over his eyes, sandy blond hair sticking out haphazardly around the brim.  In the far corner a short boy with flame red hair and a large moustached man were quietly painting over the last grey wall.

“They get in the way!” the woman screeched, seeming not to notice her startled audience.

“They are keeping the roof up!” the man replied.

Rukia cleared her throat loudly and the two swung around immediately to face her, angry scowls immediately smoothing away into polite smiles as they recognised her.

“Kuchiki-san!” the man said happily.  “What can we do for you?”

“Good morning, Urahara-san,” Rukia replied, motioning Grimmjow to step forward.  “This is our new artist, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.  I just wanted to show him his studio.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Urahara smiled.  Grimmjow felt strangely discomforted by the smile, but he shook the offered hand nethertheless.

“Likewise,” the purple-haired woman said, stepping forward with feline grace.  “Perhaps you could solve our dilemma.”

“Hardly a dilemma,” Urahara murmured.  She chose to ignore him.

“We’re discussing the pillars.  I think that they get in the way, my partner disagrees.”  She gestured to the six pillars that formed two lines down the centre of the space, striping the floor in crisp edged shadows.  Grimmjow walked over to one, and tried to imagine the studio full of people and paint and paper as he laid his hand on the cool surface.

“They stay,” he said decisively, turning back to face a quietly triumphant Urahara.  “Can you put some hooks in please?  I want to put up some lines to hang shi-stuff on to dry.”

“No problem,” Urahara said, smiling.  Grimmjow smiled back, repressing a shudder.  The man’s smile was oddly creepy.

*

Despite Toshiro’s prediction, it took three days for the Internal Technology department to catch up with Grimmjow, and deposit a rather advanced looking PDA with an instruction manual that had taken at least a ream of paper to create.  The tall pale woman who handed it to him was wearing an obscenely short skirt, but something in her manner and the way that her eyes seemed to burn directly into his skull made him refrain from commenting on it.  He didn’t know what he would draw if he tried to sketch her.  She left as quietly as she came, and Toshiro shrugged in response to Grimmjow’s raised eyebrow.

Once he had figured out how to turn the thing on and check his calender, he realised that he was due at a ‘working lunch’ in about five minutes.

“Do you know where this is?” he asked Toshiro, showing the white-haired editor the instructions on the screen.

“You’re in luck, that’s the conference room on this floor, the one at the other end of the corridor.  I’m going to lunch, I expect I’ll be back before you.  Good Luck!”

Grimmjow grinned in response, grabbed his suit jacket and sketchpad and headed out of the door, hoping that the meeting wasn’t going to be as bad as he thought it would be.  He was wrong.

‘Business Lunch’ seemed to be a euphemism for ‘Spanish Inquisition’

*

Toshiro was surprised at how quickly he had adapted to sharing his prized personal space.  Grimmjow, despite his startling appearance and preference for listening to loud music on his headphones was surprisingly easy to work alongside.  The fact that the artist was as much of a caffeine addict as the editor didn’t hurt.

“Here you go,” the blue-haired man muttered absently, placing a steaming container of coffee and syrup on the coaster next to his keyboard.  “Got you the special, Yuzu said that you weren’t allergic to nuts.”

“No, I’m not,” Toshiro assured him.  “Thanks.”

“If you don’t like it I’ll have it,” Grimmjow smirked, taking a sip of his own.  “It’s heaven in a cup!”

“Yuzu’s specials usually are,” Toshiro pointed out.  “I think I can count the number I haven’t liked on one hand, and two of those are only because I detest cherry.”

“What’s wrong with cherry?” Grimmjow asked, looking up from his work with a frown.

“When I was sick as a child, Grandma always gave me this cherry cough syrup,” Toshiro replied, glancing at the small framed picture of a smiling old woman propped up next to his desk tidy.  “I always associate the taste with being ill.”

“I can see why that would put you off for life,” Grimmjow said thoughtfully.  “But you’re missing out by dismissing the flavour entirely.  There are all sorts of good cherry flavoured things, from lip balm to lollipops to lube.”

Toshiro had to work hard at not blowing coffee froth through his nose after that last statement.  “I think I’ll pass,” he managed eventually, setting the disposable cup down carefully.

Grimmjow shrugged and returned his focus to the font designs he was measuring out with cautious flicks of a pencil.  “Your loss,” he murmured as he returned to his work.

Toshiro, smiling a little despite himself, looked back at his own monitor, when something about the quality of the light distracted him.  He glanced out of the window at the leaden grey clouds hanging over the rooftops of the city, and his eyes grew wide with delight as they tracked the first few soft snowflakes as they tumbled down the sides of the skyscrapers.

“Grimmjow, it’s snowing!”

Grimmjow looked up and scowled at the view from the window.  “Brilliant,” he groused sarcastically.  “Everything will be wet, cold and slushy for days if not weeks.”

Toshiro span round on his chair, his surprise at Grimmjow’s tone tearing him away from the enchanting sight outside his window.  “You don’t like the snow?”

Grimmjow shook his head vehemently.  “I hate the snow.  Always have done.”

“But… it’s snow!  Everyone likes snow!  Didn’t you play in it when you were a child?”

“Playing is not the right word,” Grimmjow grumbled, turning on the desk lamp and angling it over the section he was working on.  Toshiro seemed to take that as a cue to end the conversation, although when Grimmjow raised his head to work out a kink in his neck ten minutes later he wondered if the shorter man had just lost interest in talking.  He was sitting with one leg tucked up into the chair, the hazelnut coffee warming his hands, his eyes fixed on the snowflakes twirling past the window.  Grimmjow huffed slightly as he bent back over his work.  He hated the snow.

*

Grimmjow snuck into the expanse of tacky white paint and plaster dust that was to become his new studio, moving carefully in case anyone from the crazy decorating company was there to ask him questions.     He paced around the room, squinting a little in an attempt to imagine what he could create within the blank space.  The late afternoon sunlight streamed into the room, throwing the shadows of the white pillars into sharp relief.  The whole place was very bright, and although he appreciated the amount of natural light in the room, the blank expanse of wall made him want to cover it.  He focused on the back wall, and started to grin as the outline of an electric blue panther painted itself across his imagination.  Maybe once the decorators had finished he would see if the company policy prohibited graffiti in the office.

It only took minutes before the fumes started to get to him, growling in annoyance he stalked over to the wall of windows and tugged at the handle, pushing firmly against the stiff hinges.    The muffled murmur of the traffic became clearer, and the smell of fresh cooked bagels from the bakery across the street wafted into the room.

Suddenly hungry, he turned and exited the room, leaving the window open behind him.    He suspected that Toshiro was still in the office working on next months style section, and the white haired man would appreciate a freshly baked bagel.

It didn't take as long as Grimmjow had thought it would to dash across the road and order two bagels and a container of watermelon chunks.    The store had been empty apart from the baker, a short round woman with a red face.    Grimmjow had discovered that her shop had the best bagels in the city, but facing the crowds of starving executives    that habitually thronged the establishment usually wasn't worth the treat.

Bagels safely in hand, Grimmjow took the lift up to the 10th floor and strode along the corridor to Hitsugaya's office as quietly as he could.

As he had expected, a head of bright tousled hair was bent over the desk, a pencil clenched between his teeth and an ink mark smeared across one arched eyebrow.    “What are you still doing here?” Toshiro grumbled.  

“I brought food,” Grimmjow explained, smiling to see the younger man’s eyes light up.

“You are my new favourite person in the whole world,” Toshiro announced, appearing on the other side of the desk as if he had teleported and peering into the proffered bag.

“I was checking out my studio and I smelt them,” Grimmjow explained, fishing his own turkey bagel from the bag and handing it over.  

“I’m surprised you smelt anything through the paint.    The smell has penetrated the entire floor,” Toshiro complained through a mouthful of bagel.

“And I’m surprised that you’re not a skinny rake, the amount of meals you seem to skip,” Grimmjow said reprovingly.

Toshiro shrugged.  “Things have been really busy these last few weeks, it’s not normally this bad.”

“Even so, you could get sick, and then who would do all this urgent work that needs to be done?” Grimmjow asked rhetorically, waving his arms for emphasis.  “You only take breaks when Gin comes to drag you up to the roof!”  The artist turned to glare at his coworker, only to find that the shorter man was watching him in astonishment, a half eaten bagel hovering in front of his lips.  “Eat your bagel,” he commanded gruffly, stomping over to his desk and sprawling in the comfy chair.  “I’ve got work to do.”

*

Grimmjow was annoyed.  He was working in a shiny new building, surrounded by beautiful employees, and for some reason he hadn’t done more than a bit of light flirting.  It had been two whole weeks, and he hadn’t slept with a single co-worker.  He was pretty sure that this was some sort of record for him.  A personal best, or worst, depending on how you looked at it.  True, he was busy and working in someone else’s office rather than a dedicated studio hindered him a little in his work, but he had had to work in less than optimum conditions before and still find time to go out on dates and flirt with colleagues in the hallways.  It was puzzling to him, this sudden lack of interest in the females around him, because he couldn’t figure out what was so different about his new job that would cause this behaviour.

He found himself spending most of his time working in companionable silence with Toshiro, as the white-haired editor typed with fluid motions and his pencil flew over the paper, mapping out the characters for the new fonts he was designing.  Font design had never been his favourite artistic pastime, but the memory of the relief on Toshiro’s face when Kuchiki Byakuya had approved the initial design kept him working diligently.

He realised, as he carefully traced the letters he had drawn onto squared paper - all the better to transfer them onto the computer - that he preferred spending time working in Toshiro’s office with the editor to wandering around the complex meeting new people.  There was a sparseness to the office that was somehow comfortable, a comfort that was lacking in the atmosphere of the rest of the building.  He kept on catching himself drawing ice fields, and no amount of telling himself that it was just a side effect of the rapidly cooling weather could hide the truth.

Toshiro was seeping into his subconscious.  The blue-haired artist wondered how long he had been in there before he had noticed.  Nel was fond of telling him that he wasn’t the sharpest pencil in the case even if he was the brightest.

Grimmjow had always liked girls, had always been attracted to large breasts and long hair.  Toshiro might have been as short as most of the girls in the building, but he certainly wasn’t feminine.  But for some reason that didn’t matter to Grimmjow - he was pretty sure that Toshiro could have had a mole on the end of his nose and he would still prefer his company.  It had nothing to do with the way that he looked and everything to do with the way that he was.

They had been working in the same space for two weeks and had not had a single fight.  Grimmjow knew that that was a personal best.  He had never been able to share space with anyone for more than a few days without arguing, and that included Nel.

His train of thought was broken as Toshiro sighed and rubbed his hands through his hair.  “I need coffee.  Want some?”

“Yeah, get me whatever today’s special is please.”

“Sure.”

Yuzu, who worked the morning shift in the cafe had come up with the idea of daily specials.  Ururu, the afternoon worker had enthusiastically agreed and together they came up with the next week’s specials every Friday lunchtime.  Grimmjow had caught sight of the word ‘Mint’ on the board on his way in that morning.  He didn’t care if it was hot or cold, coffee or chocolate, if it was minty he was going to try it.

The office was quieter with Toshiro gone.  Something was missing from the aura of the room, and Grimmjow didn’t like it.  That cemented his suspicion that it was Toshiro himself, not his lovely office space, that had corrupted his mind.

Grimmjow was not a narrow minded freak like some of the people he had worked with before.  He had nothing against homosexuals, he just had never expected to find himself experiencing that urge.  Grimmjow had never run away from anything.  Taking these things into account, there was only one logical explanation that he felt comfortable with.

When Toshiro walked back through the door, carrying two steaming paper cups that smelt of mint chocolate, Grimmjow was waiting for him, leaning against his desk.

“Is something wrong?” Toshiro asked, putting the coffee down on the desk.

“No,” Grimmjow said, staring into puzzled teal eyes.  Toshiro’s eyebrows dipped into a frown, and then flew upwards in surprise as Grimmjow leant forward.

“Wha-”

The rest of the word was muffled by Grimmjow’s lips.  He could taste mint chocolate - Toshiro had evidently had a sip on his way back to the office.  Toshiro’s lips were smooth and cool, and parted very slightly in shock.  Warm, chocolate scented breath brushed past Grimmjow’s nose, and the artist took advantage of Toshiro’s surprise to wrap his arms around the smaller man before Toshiro could think to pull away.  Toshiro was very still, and Grimmjow was beginning to wonder if he was about to get punched in the face.  He hadn’t really thought about what Toshiro’s reaction to an unexpected kiss from a man might be.

But then Toshiro appeared to get over his shock, raising himself up on tiptoe and throwing his arms around Grimmjow’s neck as he caressed Grimmjow’s lips with his own.

Grimmjow felt an unexpected groan rumble in his chest at the feel of a soft tongue brushing against his bottom lip, followed by the sharp nip of teeth.  He held on tighter, smoothing his palms over Toshiro’s hips and dragging the other man forward until their bodies almost touched.  Then he hesitated, suddenly unsure of himself.  Kissing Toshiro felt natural, but kissing was only kissing.  Touching was a whole different ball game, and Grimmjow wasn’t sure if he knew all the rules just yet.

Toshiro seemed to sense his sudden uncertainty, and drew back from the kiss with a smile.  The sight of his wet, slightly swollen lips made Grimmjow want to lean down and claim them again, biting at the soft flesh until it was rosy and Toshiro was glassy-eyed with sensation.  The smaller man turned away and Grimmjow felt an odd stirring in the pit of his stomach, that dissipated before he could identify it as Toshiro handed him the hot drink he had turned to pick up.

“Here you go,” he said calmly, as if he hadn’t been stroking Grimmjow’s tongue with his own only seconds before.  “One special, just like you asked.”

“Thank you,” Grimmjow said, feeling slightly stunned.

“You’re welcome.”  Toshiro walked casually around his desk and sat down, sipping at his own mint chocolate drink.

Grimmjow realised as he walked back to his own chair that he was half hard, and that the tailored office trousers he was wearing weren’t doing much to hide it.  He glanced at Toshiro, but the Editor was staring at his screen, eyes tracking from left to right as he read what was in front of him.  Grimmjow took a swig of Yuzu’s delicious concoction and glared balefully at his groin, before returning to work, wishing that Toshiro was similarly uncomfortable.  It would serve the bastard right; who knew that he was such a good kisser?

*

Grimmjow paced nervously around the office.  He had come in early, walking through the mist in the morning, slipping slightly on the icy steps into the building, all normal. Toshiro hadn’t been there yet when he had arrived, but he had become accustomed to the white-haired editor making an appearance around half an hour after he arrived.

It was now nine o’clock, and he hadn’t even noticed the time until his stomach had rumbled.  Toshiro hadn’t arrived, and he wasn’t answering his mobile - it went straight to voicemail.

A strange, uncomfortable feeling in his stomach was making it hard for Grimmjow to sit still.  What ifs haunted his thoughts as he paced up and down the office, pausing every few minutes to hit redial with a savagery that he recognised but was somehow unable to tame.  Where the fuck was the little twit?  How dare he make him worry like this?  Grimmjow oscillated between thinking that Toshiro was sick or had been hit by a car, and worrying that the kiss the evening before had made him think twice about coming into work at all.  Maybe he had read the situation wrong - it wouldn’t be the first time - and Toshiro’s casual reaction to the kiss had been an act.  Perhaps he wasn’t interested, perhaps he was horrified, perhaps he was in Kuchiki’s office demanding that Grimmjow be removed from his space.  Perhaps he hated Grimmjow, was disgusted by his evidently unwelcome advances and was avoiding him at all costs.  Perhaps he had been mugged on the underground and was lying on the dirty floor surrounded by fag ends and chewing gum spots, unconscious.

Grimmjow squashed the urge to sit in the middle of the floor and pull at his hair with both hands.  He moved around the desk and picked up the handset, reaching for the redial button again.  A sound made him pause.

The door swung open.

“I hate the Chinese,” Toshiro announced, dropping two black plastic bags onto the floor and kicking the door closed behind him.  “They make a ridiculous song and dance about everything, and they insist on having a translator present who speaks both Mandarin and Cantonese, and our usual translator is off sick, so the whole meeting had to be delayed by an hour and a half while Hisagi-san found another one, and I’m the only one who knows the right tea ceremony, so I got stuck there serving tea for the old farts while they nattered away in a language that I didn’t understand.”

Grimmjow was both relieved and amused, and as amused was the emotion less likely to invite suspicion, he decided that a chuckle and an offer of coffee were probably what Toshiro needed.  The grateful look the editor gave him after the offer cemented the decision in his mind as a good one, and the trip down to the coffee bar gave him time to gather his thoughts.

Far from stressing over the kiss that Grimmjow had initiated, Toshiro seemed to be acting as if it had not happened in the first place.  Of all the possible reactions that Grimmjow had agonised about that morning, that one had never crossed his mind.

Yuzu was as cheerful as ever, greeting him by name and taking down the order with a smile.  Grimmjow smiled back, and gave her an extra tip once he realised that she had ‘forgotten’ to charge him for the caramel sauce he had ordered.

By the time he had made his way back upstairs, he was feeling better about life.  He had stated his intentions clearly, and Toshiro had kissed him back.  Kissed him back more passionately than he expected, and the memory of those cool lips was one that he would probably take into the shower with him at least once.  Now it was Toshiro’s turn; Grimmjow had made his move.

*

Three days later Grimmjow found himself unintentionally eavesdropping on the roof again.  He honestly hadn’t meant to, but Toshiro and Gin’s argument reached his ears while he was enjoying the weak wintry sunshine, and as they were both talking about him and standing by the only exit he was trapped.

“If he kissed you, I think that’s a pretty clear signal,” Gin complained.

“I don’t want to scare him off,” Toshiro protested.

“Woah, _he_ kissed _you_ , remember?”  Gin replied.  Grimmjow hunched lower behind the lavender bushes.  “Anyway, what happened to that plan to show him what he was missing?”

“Yeah, but-”

“No buts.  He kissed you.  That means that he has accepted any response from you already.”

“Gin, I really don’t think he’d be ok with what I want to do.”

“And what is that exactly?”

“Lock him in my office and beg him to fuck me on top of my desk.”

Gin tapped a long finger against his bottom lip as he thought.  “Well, your desk is very sturdy.”

“Gin!”

“I’m just saying that I think it will hold up.”

Grimmjow could feel a stirring in his groin at the mental image that Toshiro’s words had evoked scrawled itself across his mind.  A hazy vision of the shorter man lying across the dark wood, clad in tie and a pair of sky blue boxers with a prominent bulge in them, milky white skin on display.  He would have to sketch that image later.

And then wank over it.

Rubbing absently at the not unexpected bulge in his slacks, Grimmjow forcibly quietened his breathing, hoping to hear more.

“I just feel comfortable with him, and I don’t want to ruin that,” Toshiro was protesting.

“Ignoring that the kiss ever happened is a more certain way of ruining a potential good thing,” was Gin’s pragmatic response.  “What if he thinks that you didn’t want him to kiss you?  What if he gets embarrassed and starts avoiding you?  I say strip for him, get on your knees and beg.”

“Gin!”

“What?” The silver haired man asked innocently.  “That’s sort of how Ran-chan and I got together.”

“You were thirteen!”

Gin threw his head back and laughed.  Grimmjow had to bite his lip to keep his own mirth silent - the mix of offended horror and incredulity on Toshiro’s face was priceless.  Still chuckling, Gin placed a pale hand on Toshiro’s shoulder.  “Just fucking kiss him, you moron.  You can work the rest out later.”

Toshiro shrugged and looked away.  “Yeah, maybe.”

Gin looked directly at Grimmjow through the lavender and winked.  Grimmjow froze, holding his breath.  Did the man somehow know that he was there?  Gin mouthed ‘now’ and then turned away to study the sky intently.  Toshiro was still staring at the ground, chewing on his lip.  With a deep breath, Grimmjow got to his feet and stepped around the planter of lavender.

Toshiro glanced up and jumped backwards, terrified teal eyes fixed on a face Grimmjow was sure probably looked pretty scary.  The artist mentally fortified himself and took a deep breath.

“Just fucking kiss me you over-thinking idiot.”

“What?”

Grimmjow stepped closer and reached out to pull Toshiro flush against him.  “Kiss me!” he commanded.

Blushing, Toshiro stood on tiptoe, wrapping his arms around Grimmjow’s neck for balance, and pressed their lips together.


End file.
